


look at you saving my life

by j_quadrifrons



Series: Stay Vicious [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Collars, M/M, Monster!Jon, Monsters in love, Submission, Threats of Violence, Training, balance!Martin, feral archivist, fluffy dubcon, post-Watcher's Crown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 04:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: It's a kind of release to be tethered so completely to the here and now, not focused on the relentless hammering of stories against his skull or the threat of a future more dangerous than this one.The Watcher's Crown is complete, but the Watcher is overthrown and in his place Martin Blackwood holds the balance of power, and the Archivist at his feet. Sequel to "something that used to resemble a soul."





	look at you saving my life

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for the patience of everyone who I promised that I was writing this sequel and then...didn't do it for months. Hopefully part three comes a little faster.

He still doesn’t remember the ritual. There had been a long stretch of time when he didn’t remember much of anything at all, driven by a hunger for statements, for _knowledge_, that outstripped anything that had come before. His nightmares had grown tedious and repetitive and he needed more. Whatever small human part of him despaired at the torture and misery he inflicted was drowned out by the call of the Eye leading him ever onward.

Seeing Martin again had brought it all rushing back, the fear and the shame and the aching regret. He had been shocked to find so much humanity left in him at all, that he could regret anything he’d done in this new world made over to fit Beholding’s desires. Martin’s quiet command had been such a damned relief he’d submitted to it without a second thought, his trust in Martin still unshakable no matter the horrors that had happened since they’d last seen each other.

It wasn’t until much later that he was able to identify the spider silk threads that had pulled him back to Martin in the first place, to recognize the cold fog that curled around his ankles when he stood still for too long. By then it was too late to do anything but struggle, even if he had wanted to.

He can't remember if he had wanted to.

It's a kind of release to be tethered so completely to the here and now, not focused on the relentless hammering of stories against his skull or the threat of a future more dangerous than this one. Here, on his knees in Elias's - in Martin's office, safe in the protection of the Institute but far enough from the Archives to feel the pull of it against his mind, he exists nowhere but in the present. The collar around his throat is an anchor that keeps him here. Martin has given him that, and he will always be grateful. Martin has always known what Jon needs, even when he didn't like to hear it himself.

The hunger hasn't gone away, of course. Martin knows how to balance it precisely, knows how long Jon can survive on written statements and when he will fall apart completely without fresh terror to feed the Eye. Jon still hates it, as he knows he should, but the loathing of his own weakness is gone now that he knows that he is tormenting innocents not out of desperation but out of need. He hates it as much as he craves it, and when he wakes shaking from the nightmares of his victims Martin pulls him up from the foot of the bed to pet and gentle him until he is himself again.

It isn't time for another fresh statement. It hasn't been a month since the last one, and Jon can go much longer than that, particularly now that the Eye has a whole world to feast upon. That doesn't mean he doesn't _want_ it with a terrible aching need that runs through him ins spasms, leaving him shaking and unsatisfied. Particularly when the man currently pressed against Martin's office door is doing such a poor job of disguising his panic at being in the same room as the Archivist. Apparently, in his months of freedom after the Watcher's Crown, he gained something of a reputation.

"Did you think they would protect you?" Martin is saying. He's standing above Jon, one hand on the back of his chair and the other in his pocket, and his voice is calm and even, almost kind. Jon knows, though, that his eyes are cold and hard, and he's glad he can't see Martin's face. Something about that look makes his heart clench painfully, and he doesn't need the distraction. Not with this vulnerable person - and it is a person, not a monster of any description - just bleeding his fear into the room like a haze.

All he would have to do is Ask. He could say the words right now and the statement would come pouring out, all that terror saturating the air and soaking into his bones, better than the finest meal. He doesn't, though, because it isn't time for a fresh statement, and if he wanted him to Martin would have said. Instead he bites his tongue and waits patiently at Martin's feet, savoring the taste of this man's fear of the two monsters staring him down. It's almost enough to be satisfying.

"I didn't - I wouldn't --" The man is stammering, scrambling for a defense that he can't muster. This is hardly the first time one of the other Powers has tried to challenge Martin's authority, convinced that since he doesn't belong fully to Beholding he should be vulnerable in Beholding's world, but none of them have been even remotely successful. This one is barely an annoyance, but Jon knows how Martin likes to see to these things himself.

"I'll tell you what," Martin says casually, and the cold humor in his voice sends a chill down Jon's spine. He can't tell if it's fear or admiration, love or terror or all of those at once. Martin shifts his hand from the chair and rests it lightly on the back of Jon's neck, soothing that shiver away with soft caresses. "I'll let you go, no worse off than you are now, if you go back to what's left of that little cult and make it very clear to them that I'm running out of patience with this nonsense."

Jon isn't entirely sure which cult it is this time, though he suspect the Lightless Flame; the man smells of scorched flesh and ashes. He clearly isn't one of them, though, only a human drawn in by threats and promises. His eyes are wide, fixed on Martin, and he nods frantically. That's not enough for Martin; he tightens his grip on the back of Jon's neck and Jon licks his lips, concentrating hard to be sure the question he asks is the one Martin wants and no more. "Will you do as he says?" he asks, and Martin's fingers tighten again before stroking gently through Jon's hair.

"Yes," the man says, breathless with the force of the compulsion yanking the answer out of his lungs. "Yes, of course, I'll tell them, I'll make sure they understand, please..." He swallows the rest of his pleading, biting his tongue to cut himself off. In spite of himself, Jon feels a spasm of sympathy; he too has blood in his mouth from his struggle to resist the lure of the compulsion.

"All right then," Martin says, bland and uncaring, fingers still soft in Jon's hair, and they both watch the man fumble helplessly to open the door to flee, the pressure of two sets of eyes on him -- especially here, in this place -- too much for him to bear.

When the man is long gone, when Jon is no longer heady with the intensity of his fear, Martin hooks his fingers in Jon's collar and pulls him to his feet. He keeps his hold there, pulling tight enough that the soft leather cuts into Jon's throat, while his other hand tenderly cups Jon's cheek and he kisses him, slow and thorough. Jon melts gratefully into him, pulling unconsciously at his wrists tied behind his back, longing to touch in return.

"You did so well, Jon," Martin whispers into his mouth when he breaks the kiss at last. "You're so good for me." Jon whimpers, pushes forward to kiss him again, and Martin indulges him for a moment before tugging him back by the collar again, urging him down. And Jon goes, folding gracelessly in on himself, landing hard on his knees and pressing his face into Martin's hip.

He knows he's a weapon. It's what Elias and the Eye made him into, all unwitting, and while he fought against it as long as he could, there came a point where the fighting was more terrible than accepting it. At least he trusts Martin to use him well. The burn scars on his right hand ache when he thinks of the Desolation threatening Martin and he knows he'd do anything to prevent it, that or any other threat to the people he still loves, no matter what he's become. Because he knows that while Martin holds the balance of power they're safe: Basira and Daisy still down in the Archives; Georgie and Melanie outside; even Helen, whose door never leaves the corner of the storage room any more. Jon doesn't trust himself to know how to keep them safe. He's always cared too much to be able to wield his power with any finesse. Martin is distant enough to know what to do, and for that, at least, he's grateful.

Martin lets him stay like that for a minute, petting his hair while Jon leans heavily into him, before he tightens his fingers and gently tugs Jon away. Jon goes, suppressing a disappointed noise, but when Martin has settled back into his chair he looks back at Jon and nods, and Jon settles at his side, leaning against him slightly at first and then more heavily when there's no corrective hand on his neck. The hunger is sharp, whetted more than sated by the unfortunate man's fear of retribution, fear of him, but Jon knows he would do more than that for Martin if he asked. And here at his side, safe and cared for, it's worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come yell about TMA with me, I have too many feelings  
[@j_quadrifrons](https://twitter.com/j_quadrifrons), [backofthebookshelf](https://backofthebookshelf.tumblr.com)


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